Obsession
by Abby Normal1
Summary: Someone in the command crew has a terrible obsession.
1. Part 1

Obsession - Prologue   
by Angel Halfelven   
angelhalfelven@hotmail.com   
Rating: R   
Summary: Someone in the command crew has a terrible obsession.   
Warning: This story will not be for the feint of heart, so if you can't take lots of angst, do not read this. You've been warned.   
Disclaimer: Enterprise belongs to Paramount. Lyrics before each part by Project86, song Chimes. 

~ 

_"I hear a voice speaking soft amidst the breathing. An invitation to a place where hearts are beating. To a place where your dreams are made, where songs are played, where drinking never ceases, no dismay."_

It wasn't like he wanted to kill really. It was something else that drove him, whether a defect in his mind, a demonic possession or simply a personality flaw, he did not know, nor did he agonize over finding the answer. He knew only one thing - he was getting hungry for blood again. _No, not here. Not again._ He wanted to start a new life on Enterprise. Yet he found his eyes drawn more and more to the cabinet on the far side of the room. 

His hands shook as he looked there again, then forced himself to turn. How easy it would be to cover it up. He could do it, he knew, but he had to stop himself. He couldn't hurt these people that he cared for. He glanced again at the cabinet and shuddered. He needed to get out and away from that knife. And so he left his quarters for a time. 

Biting his lip he wandered the ship, nodding in greeting to those who passed and smiled. The urge was getting stronger, today being worse than he could barely stand, and he knew it wouldn't be long. He couldn't understand himself. Why was he so attracted to the awful flowing of blood caused by his own hand? 

His strength waned as he thought of taking a life again. Maybe if he killed just one? He closed his eyes and wiped a tear quickly from his cheek. What would they think of him if they knew? Oh, but the urge was so sensual and demanding. At that time in his weakness Hoshi Sato walked by and he almost whimpered in need for that he knew he shouldn't want. 

And the decision was made. He made his way sadly to his quarters and to the far cabinet, dreading the inevitable and yet knowing there was no escaping what he was. He was a killer. 

Without motivation he opened it and removed the knife he'd used many times. Crude, yes, but it would provide him with what he needed. Maybe it would be the last time he used it. Maybe he should use it on himself. Stuffing the blade in his sleeve, he left his quarters with purpose. 

The door buzzed and he waited in agony for her to reply. When she did, he entered upon her call and her eyes lit up. "Hello, Sir. Is there anything I can help you with?" she asked him and his chest felt heavy. 

"Hoshi," he said in a breathless voice as he closed in. "I came to see how you were." He didn't want to do this, but every fiber of his being cried out for it. Closing his eyes, he reached back into his sleeve and fingered the blade. _Run, Hoshi,_ he thought, knowing she'd never question his actions until it were too late. He was going to do it. 

"Sir?" she replied at his odd demeanor. "I'm fine. Are you okay?" Hoshi backed away. Maybe she was frightened of him. He was frightened of himself. As he drew the blade she swallowed and looked into his eyes. "Sir?" she breathed again, covering her throat with her hand unconsciously. 

His breathing was labored as he advanced on her, holding the knife tightly. "Shhh," he soothed, clasping cold hands around her arms and backing her into a wall. She shivered in his grasp as he pressed the knife to her soft skin. "It'll be okay." He had to do this. He had to finish or she would tell someone. Maybe if he told her it was a joke? 

"Sir," she whimpered out, trying to get from his grasp, yet too frightened to really put up a fight. "Sir, don't hurt me, please." 

Swallowing, he leaned close, looking into her brown eyes. "This won't take long, Hoshi," he whispered, driven by unknown forces to do this evil thing that he had set in his mind to do. 

Her eyes were wide when he drove the knife into the flesh of her throat and cut her. He wasn't surprised by the familiar rush he felt as she struggled against him, then stopped. It gave him a high like he couldn't imagine anything else doing. Why, he wondered but couldn't fathom. A quick killing and now Hoshi Sato lay dead in his arms. What drove him to this madness? All he could do was shiver, holding her there against him. He touched her hair, wishing he could take it back. 

Tears streamed down his cheeks and he sniffed, gripping the knife and letting her fall. Wiping his face, he looked down at her as she lay in final silence. "Why have I done this?" he whispered, watching her unmoving state with a strange fascination. 

Rubbing the handle of his knife, he noted the blood on his hand. He took a deep breath and moved to a nearby mirror and saw the smears on his cheeks from wiping. Inevitably, with any killing, there came a cleanup afterwards. He would have to remove his presence from the room, hide his trail. He cursed himself for this sloppy work. Anyone may have saw him heading this way. 

Taking a deep breath, he went into the bathroom and began to wash away the blood from both his hands and face. He had a lot of work ahead of him tonight, erasing his prints, any sensor readings that could indicate him. Not any man would know how to cover his tracks so flawlessly, but he'd meticulously learned everything he'd need to know for such a wicked lifestyle. 

Except, sometimes a part of him wanted to be caught. Then the pain would end for them. And yet something kept him hiding, perhaps the hope of killing again? Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he clenched his fists. A sudden fury swept across him like a wave over a shore. 

_What am I? You'd think the shame and guilt would stop me!_ he thought angrily, furrowing his eyebrows at his reflection. The image scowled back, naturally, and it only reminded him of the monster that he was. With a howl of anger he threw the bloody blade into the mirror, shattering it. As little shards of glass clinked onto the counter and floor, he closed his eyes and fought for the very air he breathed. 

And he turned and headed again for the living room, gazing at Sato's lifeless form as he set about the task of cleaning up the mistakes that would lead him to being discovered. No, he wouldn't want that, would he? Wouldn't want justice to be done. He'd thought the problem gone and he could begin a new life here, but that most certainly wasn't so now. He would never be free. 

Perhaps rest would bring peace. Though the night have never been so kind before. Why should it now? 

~


	2. Part 2

Obsession - Chapter One   
by Angel Halfelven   
angelhalfelven@hotmail.com   
Rating: R   
Summary: Someone in the command crew has a terrible obsession.   
Warning: This story will not be for the feint of heart, so if you can't take lots of angst, do not read this. You've been warned.   
Disclaimer: Enterprise belongs to Paramount. Lyrics before each part by Project86, song Chimes. 

~   
_"I'm pushing my senses away to take another step, my conscience aware of my hearts intent. I feel a whisper, a friendly voice start to rise. 'Indulge to your heart's content and pay no mind...'"_

Captain Archer sat at his desk, rubbing his face thoughtfully. The night had been long and he was very tired. Rubbing his lips absently against his hand, he stared off, praying no one would bother him for at least an hour. And naturally, on cue, someone buzzed his door. Swallowing, he said in a voice heavier than he'd intended, "Come in." 

Trip Tucker headed in and placed a data padd on his desk. "You look rough," he commented, noting the dark circles under his captain's eyes. He sat down across from Archer, his eyes curious. "What's up?" 

Archer shook his head slowly, biting back a yawn. "Nothing, Trip. Just had a long night. I'll be fine after I've had some coffee." He smiled at his friend. 

Tucker grinned back and nodded towards the door. "Why don't we blow work off for a while and get some breakfast? Then you can tell Uncle Trip all about why you couldn't sleep." 

Laughing, Archer shook his head tiredly. "I somehow don't think it would look very good to the rest of the crew, if their captain started slacking on his duties." He yawned and closed his eyes, then reopened them half-lidded. 

"Yeah," Trip agreed, nodding and sitting back in the chair. He took a deep breath and looked around his best friend's ready room. "I s'pose it wouldn't look right for me to say, sit around in here and chat, huh? My staff might start doing the same." He chuckled and rubbed his cheeks, joining in the Captain's yawning. "You're making me tired, Jonathan." 

Archer smiled and looked meaningfully at his resequencer, thinking about something that would urge him to wakefulness. Standing up, he said, "Coffee?" and smiled when Tucker nodded. 

The door buzzed again before the request could be made. "Yes?" Archer called out, stepping towards the resequencer. He turned his head when Malcolm Reed entered, his face pensive. "Malcolm?" 

Reed stopped before his captain and swallowed, then took a breath. "Sir, I'm afraid I've got something awful to report to you this morning." His eyes were very worried. 

"What is it?" Archer pressed, forgetting the coffee for the moment. 

Furrowing his brow, Reed shook his head slowly, then met his captain's eyes. "Sir, Hoshi Sato never reported for duty and so I attempted to contact her over the comm system. There wasn't a reply. I went to see about her, Captain. I found her lying on the floor. Dead, Sir." 

Archer widened his eyes and stared for a moment at his Security Chief. After getting a grasp on Reed's words, he said softly, "How?" 

Malcolm Reed exchanged looks between Archer and Tucker, who'd come closer to stand beside the Captain. "Someone murdered her, Captain. There were blade marks on her throat and blood all around her. I'm having a security team go over her quarters in detail. Poor Hoshi's in Sickbay. The Doctor is working to determine exactly how long she's been...lying there." He frowned, crossing his arms. 

Archer was quiet again for a moment. Tucker took that opportunity and spoke up. "Are you sure it was murder and not something like suicide? I mean I don't see why she'd do something so desperate, but this is _murder _we're talking about. You really think there could be someone on board that would want to kill her?" 

Reed shook his head and shrugged. He folded his arms across his chest. "The knife is missing. Another thing I found curious was the fact that her mirror was shattered. There's got to be something that will lead us to what happened last night." 

Shaking his head and looking from the floor to Reed, Archer asked, "What about an outside force? This whole temporal war going on with Daniels and Silik, or even an alien influence of some kind could have been responsible." 

"I thought of those myself," Reed replied, exhaling. "I'll use every resource I have in this investigation. In the meantime, Sir, what would you have me do about the safety of the crew?" 

Furrowing his brow, Archer exhaled. "Increase security. I don't want anyone to know about this until we've learned everything we can. This is a dangerous situation, especially if there is an outside force at work. I don't want the crew to panic." 

"Yes, Sir," Reed said, nodding to his captain. 

"Keep me posted, Malcolm," Archer told him, looking at him gravely. "Dismissed." 

The Captain and his friend watched as Reed exited quickly. "Well, shit," Tucker breathed, still in shock, as he shook his head. "What do you do in a situation like this?" He looked at his friend. 

"I don't know, Trip," Archer replied, looking down at the floor. He met Tucker's eyes sadly. "We'll find out." 

~ 

Malcolm Reed frowned as he exited Archer's ready room. He was going to have a lot of work to do now and this investigation could last a very long time. If they even solved it. A sigh crept out from his lips as Sub-Commander T'Pol motioned him over. "Lieutenant," she greeted with a slight inclination of her head. "I would like to read a full report of your findings after the examination of Ensign Sato's quarters is complete. I would also like to go over any evidence that you find." 

Reed frowned at that. Maybe he was just feeling tired or shaken, but something in him was feeling irritated at the tone in which she ordered him in. "With all due respect, Sub-Commander, I _am_ planning to report this to Captain Archer." 

T'Pol seemed unfazed by his demeanor. She held his gaze and replied, "As protocol would have you do, Lieutenant. I merely want to go over your findings in the event you miss something." 

His eyes hardened at that. "Miss something?" he retorted, his voice edgy. 

T'Pol's expression grew weary, as weary as a Vulcan could look. Her voice was firm, yet neutral as she said, "It is merely a precaution. I intended no insinuation on your skill as an investigator." 

Malcolm Reed opened his mouth to comment, but held back when the ready room opened and the Captain and Commander Tucker retreated, both carrying a cup of coffee. Archer looked at them quesitoningly and Tucker stopped, sticking around unnoticed behind the Captain. "Something wrong?" he asked as T'Pol got up from his seat. 

Sub-Commander T'Pol cocked her head slightly as Archer took the command chair. "Lieutenant Reed merely misunderstood my intentions behind an order I gave, Captain. I have explained myself." 

Reed frowned at her wording. "She wanted me to report everything to her to make sure I didn't miss anything, Sir. I was just about to explain to her that I'm perfectly able to closely examine evidence and facts." 

"It was merely a procaution," T'Pol said solidly, her arms clasped behind her back. "If Lieutenant Reed cannot remove his pride from the issue and proceed with this investigation logically, I suggest someone else lead it." 

Archer raised his hand forestallingly and shook his head. Looking between them he lowered his voice and said, "Look, I know you're a little shaken, Malcolm, but I see no problem in letting T'Pol read over the reports. You can use all the help you can get." 

Reed nodded slowly and sighed. "Yes, Sir," he grumbled, then departed quickly without waiting for a dismissal. 

Exhaling deeply, Archer leaned back in his chair, his face troubled. "He's probably just edgy, T'Pol. I'm sure this is bothering him. I'm sure it's bothering all of us that know." He raised hands to his weary eyes and held them over for a moment, blocking the light. "Do everything you can," he said finally. 

"I will, Captain," she replied, gazing down on him as he looked up. "Sir, I have a suggestion." 

"Let's have it," the Captain said, taking a sip from his long desired coffee and looking at her thoughtfully. 

She lowered her voice and stepped a little closer. Looking slightly uncertain, she began. "If Lieutenant Reed's investigation turns up a list of suspects, I would like to try a mind meld." 

"Mind meld?" Tucker cut in, finally stepping out of the figurative shadows and appearing interested. "Idn't that where you connect minds or something like that?" 

T'Pol nodded. "That is, in essense, what a mind meld consists of. If I can successfully meld with the suspects, it is theoretically possible that I can determine which is the killer, or at least clear them from suspicion." She waited for Archer's response patiently. 

Archer looked uncomfortable with the idea and eyed Tucker, seeing a similar expression there. "I don't know, T'Pol. It's a dangerous thing I've heard and hasn't been tried much between Humans and Vulcans. I don't even know if your testimony would stand up in court if you found the killer." 

Tucker sipped his coffee. "I don't know if I'd like someone poking around my mind." He frowned at Archer. 

The Captain nodded. "Me either." 

T'Pol looked between them. "It could be dangerous, Captain, but I am willing to take that risk. We must put the safety of this crew before my safety and before the possibility that Starfleet would not accept my testimony as evidence. If it worked at very least it would draw attention to the suspect and deter them from acting again." 

Still not looking like he cared much for the idea, Archer frowned and gazed at the floor. He shrugged and gave way, seeing no real reason to deny her suggestion. "Perhaps you're right. I'll keep it under advisement. When we come to that bridge, I'll let you know then how we're going to cross it." 

"Aye, Captain," she replied, stepping away and taking her post. 

"Miind meld," Tucker murmured, mock-shivering. He narrowed his brow at Archer. "Creepy." 

Archer shook his head as Tucker walked away, sighing softly and leaning against his chair, now feeling the burden of weariness more heavily than before. 

~ 

He sat in his quarters, alone and left to ponder many thoughts he didn't care to think on. His body sometimes actually ached with his tense and dark entertainments. He wanted it again. So soon after Hoshi and yet he was craving more. How terrible he was. 

He sat on the couch sideways, legs stretched and crossed at the ankles. His eyes continually gazed upon the ceiling above as if seeking some comic answer there to the 'why' that plagued him. Perhaps every person in the universe had a role to fill, a role they couldn't escape from. Did it say somewhere in the stars that everyone was meant for something good? Perhaps this was just what he was - a murdering monster. Is the universe so gray? 

He couldn't justify himself that way, and yet without even realizing it, he did somewhere in the dark places within. How could he not be justifying himself? He wasn't turning himself in. Very easily all of this could be ended. The crew would no longer worry for their lives if he could just force himself off the couch and report to security. 

He wanted her. Watching her in the mess hall, he'd decided then finally that he would like to have her next. Despite what his actions may or may not have said about his feelings towards her in any given moment in the past, he'd never really cared for her. Except to look at her. She _was_, after all, beautiful. Any man on board would be blind to not agree. 

But beyond that, he wanted her in the worst way possible. Hoshi Sato had been a quick kill, something that had been done in haste and had been unsatisfying. T'Pol, however, he'd been thinking about for some time. Any number of ways he'd imagined killing her, each time more tempting than the last. He could almost feel her screams echoing through his soul. 

Breathing out deeply, he ran fingers through his hair and leaned back, closing his eyes and trying to stop the evil impulses within. "What am I doing?" he breathed aloud, knowing there would be no answer tonight. He stood to his feet, knowing somewhere deep inside exactly why he was getting up, but constantly telling himself it was for some other purpose. To wash his face. Yes, that was what he was going to do. 

But he never made it to the washroom. Groaning and clenching his fists, he glanced at his desk. There sat a data padd on it's surface. He wandered over and picked it up, glancing at the written contents of it's plastic surface. And without even really thinking about it, he sat down in the chair there, forcing himself to read the data as his fingers wound around the handle of a drawer. 

He sharply glanced at what he'd done. So temptingly close. He knew what items were within that drawer and here he sat, tempting himself. Playing with his own ability to stop himself from this madness. Who was he kidding? Not himself any longer. The data on the padd hadn't even graced his thoughts beyond the visual interpretations of the letters. Even those didn't form many words inside his mind. 

Slamming the data padd down onto the desk, he ripped the drawer open and rifled through it's contents. Pulling out a long and slender black case, he opened it and slipped the surgical gloves on. Unfortunately, he didn't have the time for one of his grander fantasies of murder. 

Instead, he opted to restort to deadly poison. Inside that same black case, was a needle and a few vials of assorted drugs and poisions. He didn't know why he liked using needles, but the instrument held his fascination. He'd used it before. 

A vial of poison clicked into place over the needle head and he stood up, shoving his tell-tale hands into his pockets. For the moment nothing of his guilt could stop him. He needed his drug and didn't care what it cost. And so he left. 

The walk down the halls were lonely and tense. It was late and no one would be about, but there was always that chance someone would see him. If that were the case he would have to wait. 

But he completed the trip without incident, much to his delight and agony. Gloved fingers pressed against the door buzzer and he waited. There was a brief pause and then the door opened with her voice. 

She stood, awaiting whoever it was. Her eyes were wary, but softened with trust as he came into the room. "Is there something I can assist you with?" she asked, her face betraying her disproval of his being there at such an hour. 

He couldn't over power her, he knew that. He was going to have to catch her in surprise. "I'm bothered by today's events. I know I'm an unlikely visit, but I was hoping you could impart some Vulcan wisdom." 

T'Pol cocked her head slightly and nodded. "Very well. I will try to advise you as best I can. Would you like to sit?" 

He nodded gently and watched her as she turned to the couch, heading for it on light feet. His chance. And he passed it by. She sat down and peered at him, waiting for him to make his move. He hesitantly moved forward and sat beside her, looking at her quarters, then meeting her eyes. "How could this happen here?" he asked simply, not sure where he was going with it. 

Pursing her lips, she gazed at him with grave and thoughtful eyes. "Crimes of this nature often happen when and where you least expect. It is no one's fault that it happened, wasn't prevented or she couldn't be saved, beyond the fault of the perpetrator of the act." 

Blinking at that, he nodded and clenched his fists in his pockets, knowing it would look suspicious to her if she took notice that his hands were hidden. He couldn't afford to wait much longer, but something in him wanted to talk. Almost wanted absolution for what he was about to do. Or reason for him to do it. "The crew seems pretty upset." 

T'Pol nodded at this. "Yes, they are, but it's important that they remain calm and collected, yourself included." 

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice a little higher as he looked at her. 

"Only that while the crew should mourn her death, they should not allow it to effect how they function," she answered, her eyes strange, yet soft. "We must concentrate on the task at hand. Finding who did this." 

It was enough for him. What she said was true, but his guilt over killing Hoshi consumed him and he almost took the words of the Vulcan personally. In the blink of an eye, when she turned her head for just a moment, he ripped his hands from his pockets and plunged the needle into her neck. 

T'Pol cried out in pain and shock, then writhed as he laid over her, holding her still. But her Vulcan strength prevailed and he was thrown off and onto the floor as she strumbled off the couch and towards the comm. 

Without even thinking, he gripped an iron candle stand from the floor nearby and went after her, hitting her on the back of the head with it. She collasped to the floor and he continued hitting her. The poison worked quickly and she soon grew too weak to fight back the continued onslaught. He could swear he saw anger in those dispassionate eyes. 

Screaming out in anguish he slammed the candle stand into her again and again, not even bothering to stop when she stilled. It was too much now, he was too lost in the act. 

When it was finally over he fell to his knees, tears racing down his cheeks and his body tense and tingling. There was no room for thought. He couldn't allow such torment to take over now...it would destroy him. So he got up and threw the candle stand down, taking his needle from the place it had fallen. 

He exited her quarters quickly, racing to his own to erase the sensor logs that would incriminate him. He wasn't ready to give himself in yet, even after the horrible thing he'd just done. And he would do it again. He knew that now, knew he couldn't ever deny who he was. It hurt him, but there was nothing that could be done. 

It simply was.   
  
  



	3. Part 3

Obsession - Chapter Two   
by Angel Halfelven   
angelhalfelven@hotmail.com   
Rating: R   
Summary: Someone in the command crew has a terrible obsession.   
Warning: This story will not be for the feint of heart, so if you can't take lots of angst, do not read this. You've been warned.   
Disclaimer: Enterprise belongs to Paramount. Lyrics before each part by Project86, song Chimes. 

~   
_"'...Tomorrow is a lifetime away. This is here. The time is now, so there's nothing to fear.' This hint of disaster's a beautiful face. Hiding grins front the chills of warm embrace."_

Stray articles of clothing littered the floor of the dim, stark quarters. An overturned chair here, a stray data padd there, all grimly worked together to paint the perfect picture of hopelessness and pain. The air hadn't been disturbed in hours, save for the faint sounds of breathing that issued from the wall on the far side of the room. 

In the shadows of his room he sat against the wall, on the cold floor. He was buried within the injured atmosphere of the silence, in near disbelief and not certain how to greet the coming dawn. They would find her today. She was sleeping softly on the floor of her quarters, waiting for someone to make the grim discovery of why she had failed to make it to work. 

Laying sweetly, sleeping soundly, they would see her beauty shrouded by the redness that surely stained the carpets by this time. He'd hit her so many times it blurred in his memory and he lost the count. He couldn't even guess how long he'd let himself go inside the rush of what he was doing. He'd barely thought straight enough to cover his tracks afterwards. 

It was a good thing that he could bring himself out of that state quickly. Good for him, bad for the rest. He smirked in the darkness and marveled at just what obsession could do to a man. 

The sound was soft to his distracted mind, but he noticed it soon enough. The alarm was going off beside his bed, alerting him to the dread day before him. 

His body was stiff from sitting in the same place and position so long and he groaned as he stood up. He wandered through the shadows and into the bathroom. Taking a long breath to calm himself, he turned on the sink and cupped some of the cool water into his hands, watching it run over the sides of his fingers. There was something peaceful about it. 

With a growl, he splashed his weary eyes with the water and rubbed his face. "It's over," he told himself aloud, standing straight and grabbing a towel. He gazed at his face in the mirror. "She's gone. It's done." 

Taking a long, reflective breath and looking at himself, he threw the towel onto the counter and grabbed his razor. Time to face the light of day. 

~ 

"God, no," Captain Archer said from behind his desk, covering his face with his hands and leaning back in his chair. He stayed that way for a long few moments, then met the eyes of his concerned Security Chief. The room remained dauntingly silent as they held each other's gaze. Finally Archer broke the quiet. "Tell me what you just said isn't true." 

Malcolm Reed shifted his weight and furrowed a worried brow. "Sir, I wish to God it weren't, but there's nothing I can say that will change reality." He had his arms crossed, his gray eyes holding shadows of anger and fear. 

Archer glanced down at the desk before him, not really seeing the desktop, but the face of two respected crew members. "No leads?" he asked, certain by Reed's silence that the answer would be 'no'. 

"My team has gone through Hoshi's room with a fine toothed comb, Sir," the Security officer replied. "They're doing the same with the Sub-Commander's quarters, but as of yet I've heard nothing in the way of leads." 

The Captain remained quiet again, considering and searching his knowledge and himself for answers that were hidden. "The same way?" he suddenly asked, finally sliding his eyes to Reed. 

Malcolm shook his head, his face taking on an expression of disgust. "No, Sir," he growled, not hiding his anger at the situation. "She was killed in a much more brutal fashion." 

His face puzzled and concerned, Archer sat up straighter and leaned forward. "Just how was she killed?" 

Reed exhaled deeply, shaking his head. "Her meditation candles. The fiend that did this took a candle stand and beat her with it. Hit her quite a few times, Captain. I couldn't believe what I saw when I was called to her quarters this morning." 

Archer closed his eyes for a moment, his head down. Shaking it slowly, he looked up. "You were called to her quarters?" 

"Yes, Sir," Malcolm breathed, sitting down at the gravity of all he had to say. "Ensign Cutler called me there before breakfast. It seems she was to eat with T'Pol. She had expressed an interest in Vulcan dishes, so this morning T'Pol was going to teach her a simple Vulcan recipe." Reed shook his head, obviously imagining what must have taken place this morning. "Ensign Cutler went to the Sub-Commander's quarters and buzzed her door, getting no answer. After a few more tries and a comm call, she called me to override the locks. I went immediately and opened the door. T'Pol was laying there close to the doorway, badly hurt. There was blood everywhere, Captain. We have got to find this bastard, but," he shook his head in frustration, "he's good at covering his tracks. Too good." 

Jonathan took a long breath, inhaling and looking at the wall in thought. With some reluctance, he sighed and said low, "You don't think Ensign Cutler could have..." He left it hanging. 

Reed was silent a moment, then shook his head, his face betraying his uncertainty. "I seriously don't think so, Sir. I suppose the universe has seen stranger things, but I would be quite shocked if that were the case." 

Looking at the floor, Archer stood up and watched the Security Chief do the same. "For now, my previous orders stand. Keep me posted on any and every detail you find. I'm gonna go have a word with Dr. Phlox." 

The Chief nodded. "Aye, Sir. I should probably accompany you to Sickbay, if that's all right. I need to check in with the Doctor's findings." 

Heading towards the door, Archer nodded softly, still appearing shaken. "Sure thing, Malcolm. Let's go." 

With that said, both men left the ready room in silence, both concerned about what the Doctor might have to say once they arrived. 

~ 

The Doctor's blue eyes mirrored his concern as he and the two Starfleet officers stood above the biobed where T'Pol lay. Only a sheet lay between the battered form of the dead Vulcan and the eyes of her colleagues. Phlox surmised it best to keep her hidden from their sight unless directed to show them. 

Jonathan Archer was a deep feeling human, Phlox had noted. While he didn't fully understand all the complexities of humans, he was sure T'Pol's death bothered the Captain enough without having to witness the horrible results firsthand. He wasn't too sure what Malcolm Reed was feeling, though. He supposed that Reed was naturally feeling sorrow and anger, as most humans did when one of their own - a term not always restricted to their own race - were killed, but the Security officer was hard to read to the Denobulan doctor. 

Archer's eyes appeared worried on the surface. "Phlox," he began, his voice heavier than usual. His face was grim. "How long has T'Pol been gone?" 

Scratching his cheek reflectively, the Doctor glanced at the sheet below, then sighed. "She died around 2 am according to my scans," he answered simply. 

Malcolm Reed furrowed his brow at Phlox's strange reluctance to volunteer anything else. "Doctor, have you found anything more than that?" he asked, his gray eyes narrowing slightly. 

Phlox looked down momentarily, then nodded, meeting Reed's eyes and offering his gaze to Archer. "As a matter of fact, I have. I was a loathe to bring this up due to the already emotional state of things, but you should know what I discovered." Phlox paused, looking between them. "Upon first glance I would have guessed that blows to the head had caused her death. She suffered many injuries both on her torso and head, having been hit repeatedly with a candle stand, as Mr. Reed guessed from the scene of the crime. I later confirmed that, finding traces of the metal on her skin and clothing." 

Archer glanced between Phlox and Reed. "Are you suggesting it wasn't the candle stand that killed her?" he asked, furrowing his brow. 

The Doctor nodded once and gestured with his hand. "I'm not merely suggesting it, Captain. The fact is she was killed ultimately by a poison. Or at very least, was killed both by the poison and by the head trauma." 

Reed cocked his head and crossed his arms. "Poison?" 

Moving away, Phlox went to a nearby terminal and brought up a comprehensive list of known poisons. Motioning them over, he pointed to the term he was seeking. "Morphial. Originating from a quiet race known as the Hahdrai. It's quite lethal to most humanoid species, but potentially even more so to Vulcans. Their physiology makes them allergic to certain mixes of the compounds within morphial, speeding up the processes the body suffers when exposed." 

The Captain read over the words on the screen. "Shuts down the body, system by system, starting with the digestive and moving on, ultimately resulting complete neural failure," he read softly, shaking his head. 

Phlox nodded sadly, looking back to the sheeted figure on the bed nearby. "Yes. T'Pol's death wasn't at all painless, Captain," he sighed, turning his eyes back to his Captain. "My scans show a lack of oxygen in her blood." 

"You mean she suffocated before her injuries caused her to die?" Archer asked, his green eyes wide. 

Phlox looked down from Archer's gaze, nodding gravely. He wasn't sure what more to say. There was nothing he could say that would bring T'Pol back or ease their worries. So he moved on. "Mr. Reed, I've also discovered something you may wish to note in your investigation." 

Exhaling loudly, the Security Chief pursed his lips and looked up. "Yes, Doctor?" 

"The poison was injected using a needle," the Denobulan answered, crossing his arms. 

Reed frowned at that knowledge. "A _needle_?" 

Phlox nodded his head. "I found a small puncture in her neck. The poison entered her body there." 

Licking his lips thoughtfully, Malcolm exchanged a glance with his Captain, then asked, "Doctor, do you have needles here in Sickbay?" 

"I don't employ the use of needles," Phlox replied, narrowing his brows. 

Holding a hand up and looking down, Reed nodded and said, "Please, just answer the question. I need to know, Doctor, in case someone's stolen one of them." 

The Doctor exhaled and started towards a small cabinet across the room. Opening it, he pulled out a box and opened it. Reed wandered over and looked inside, seeing that the contents included several types of needles. He looked at Phlox seriously. The Doctor handed over the box. "I have them here for study purposes. They are all accounted for. You can scan them for traces of the poison and T'Pol's DNA." 

Reed took the box carefully and swallowed. He had one more question. "Doctor, do you keep poisons on Enterprise?" 

Phlox nodded and indicated another cabinet. "I have a few poison samples in there for uses in antidote making. Morphial isn't among my inventory, but of course you may check for yourself." 

Malcolm sighed and went to the comm, calling a few members of his team to Sickbay. Archer crossed his arms and looked at the Doctor neutrally. Reed returned shortly. "I have a forensics specialist on my team coming here to examine your inventory, Doctor," he said in a low tone. "You understand that this is merely procedure? Nothing personal." 

Phlox inclined his head slightly. "Of course, Mr. Reed. I have nothing to hide." 

Archer frowned and shook his head. Sickbay suddenly felt small and claustrophobic. "We have to find this bastard." The other two nodded their silent agreement. He looked up at them, his eyes troubled. "I'll be in my ready room. Keep me posted." 

"Aye, Captain," Reed replied. Phlox merely nodded his head. They both watched as their Captain exited quickly. 

~ 

He sat there at the funeral, silently watching from the back as the crew paid their respects to not just one lost colleague, but two. A line of grieved friends and fellow crewmen formed between the two coffins. Hoshi had been placed in her dress uniform, made up prettily and laid within her final bed. Enterprise would deliver her to Earth personally to be buried with her family in a personal mausoleum. 

T'Pol had been placed in sedate Vulcan robes after the damage to her face had been repaired as well as Dr. Phlox could manage. Her face had been made up in plain colors and she now awaited departure from Enterprise. A Vulcan transport would be on it's way by now, heading steadily towards Earth to meet up with Enterprise on the way. They would take her from there on home to be taken care of. He wondered idly what Vulcan customs concerning death were. He'd never taken the time to find out. 

Strangely enough the urge had quelled. Of course he had no false notions that this would be the end of his unnatural cravings, but for now they were at bay. At another time seeing the two forms at the head of the room might have stirred up his blood, but now there was just emptiness. 

His sharp ears caught a few bits of conversation now and then. Fragments of grief and fury found a path to his hearing and made the nothingness inside seem all the more deep. A 'sick bastard' they called him without even knowing it was he who they were speaking of. None of them understood, did they? 

Not that he claimed to really understand what was going on, but it wasn't like he meant for these things to happen. He didn't feel like the deranged psycho that they branded him. Sometimes he could barely recall the strange feelings that drove him to do what he did. All he wanted was to understand...for someone to understand and help him. 

But of course that would never happen. Who in their right mind would help a murderer? They'd help him into a cell for the rest of his life, that's what would happen. And he did deserve it. He knew that, but everything in him wanted the cosmos to tell him why he deserved to be the one to do these things? Why was _he_ the killer? Why did _he_ suffer these tormenting temptations? 

Couldn't the universe have chosen someone cold to the core? Someone who didn't care who it affected or that his life would be ruined? Funny, when the temptations came he never asked these questions. He simply did. 

A monster who had possession of a soul. How perfectly ironic. Dreadfully ironic. He grunted at his momentary introversion and gazed at the two coffins ahead. _Please understand,_ he begged the two women who would never hear the question put to them. _It's not me._

But if not he, then who? 

There were only so many times you could ask yourself certain questions before you either stopped caring or were driven mad. There was no one else to ask, though, but himself and sometimes it seemed he would go mad if he wondered at the things gnawing him a moment longer. No one would understand this. No one would help him. 

He stood up slowly and wandered to the front of the room as most of the crew cleared out. Gazing down upon the two women, he sighed. Two angels, perfectly innocent and trusting. He'd taken everything from them and their families. Ended two lives in two days. "Forgive me," he whispered, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. 

He wasn't aware of the eyes that saw and the ears that heard. 

~ 

Malcolm Reed sat alone in the mess hall, reading over a data padd and scowling. The days seemed to stretch on now and he felt restless. The double funeral had been a full three days gone and still he couldn't get the grievous night out of his mind. 

Sitting back, he rubbed at his forehead and looked around the room. Phlox sat at a table nearby, silent and deep in thought. He used to have dinner with Hoshi quite a bit before she'd been killed. He had been teaching her his language. 

Sighing, Reed turned his attention elsewhere. He wanted nothing more than to get the events of the past week out of his mind - if even for a short while. Ensign Mayweather sat directly ahead of him, facing away. Crewman Cutler sat across from him, listening to whatever it was Travis was talking about. "What would you do if you heard something that bothered you, but wasn't sure you should tell anyone?" Reed heard him say. 

Cutler appeared confused. "What do you mean?" she asked, her brows furrowed. 

Mayweather leaned forward and Reed found himself doing the same. "At the funeral I heard something strange. Someone said something a little weird, but I don't know if it's really anything important. Maybe I misunderstood." 

Reed unconsciously held his breath and waited. "Who said what?" Cutler replied. 

There was a pause before Mayweather continued. "I won't say who, but I was standing near the front when a member of the crew came up and whispered "Forgive me" and then left." 

Cutler's eyes were wide. "Travis, you should tell the Captain," she advised. 

Reed frowned and continued to eavesdrop on the two. Mayweather seemed to sigh. "But what if he meant something else? We don't _know_ he was talking about killing them. Maybe he'd been fighting with one of them. I can't see this person doing something like this. Maybe I should talk to him about it first. See what he says." 

Pursing her lips, the Crewman leaned back in her chair and caught sight of Reed listening. She ignored that fact for the moment and reaffirmed her previous suggestion. "That could be dangerous. I think you should tell someone first." 

Mayweather sighed and gathered his tray together. "Maybe," he breathed, his voice still very uncertain. "I'll think about it. I've got to go. Thanks for the help." 

"You're welcome," Cutler said back, blinking and fixing her eyes on Reed. Standing up, she quickly came to stand by him. "Lieutenant," she greeted. 

"Crewman," Reed replied, frustrated at the conversation he'd just overheard. He pushed his chair back to get up. "Is there something I can do for you?" 

She frowned at that and gazed at him for a moment. "Did you hear what Travis said?" 

Standing, Reed exhaled and picked his tray up. "Yes, I heard. Unfortunate he left out the name." 

"Perhaps you should tell the Captain what he said. Maybe he could convince Travis to tell him who it was," she offered, stepping with him to return the tray. "I could go with you and report everything Travis was saying." 

Malcolm took a breath and looked over the room. Phlox was watching them curiously. "Perhaps you're right," he grunted, glancing at the Captain's private dining room. "You don't have to join me if it's any trouble." 

She shook her head. "No trouble at all, Sir." 

Reed turned away and headed for the private room, frowning in thought as Cutler followed close behind. He buzzed the door and waited, then entered at Archer's voice. He and Tucker were sitting at the table together. "Sir, I hate to bother you," he began. 

"No bother," Archer replied, smiling at the two of them. "What can I do for you two?" He pushed his seat back and stood, motioning them to the two empty chairs. 

Shaking his head, Reed passed on joining them. "Crewman Cutler has some possible new information on the case, Sir." 

Sitting back down, Archer turned his eyes on Cutler. "Go ahead." 

Cutler swallowed and explained Travis' situation and how bothered he had seemed. The Captain and Commander exchanged concerned glances. Archer looked down at his plate, then met her eyes with an uncertain frown. "Mmm. Thanks, Crewman. I'll have a word with him when I can." 

"Thank you, Captain," she said, then with a glance at Reed, left. She seemed a little less worried now and Malcolm grunted. 

"If that's all, I'd like to make some notes on this," he said, waiting for his Captain to dismiss him. 

Archer nodded slowly, and exhaled. "Yeah. Keep me posted, Malcolm." 

Reed turned on his heel and headed for the door quickly, muttering a quick, "Sure thing," as he walked out. 

~ 

Killing was something that brought a rush of adrenaline and even some strange sense of joy at times, but it was also a necessity. Standing at the window, he waited for Mayweather to arrive. He'd contacted him not five minutes ago, asking if he could talk to him about something. 

Of course he knew what Mayweather would say. A polite, "Hello, Sir," followed by an uncertain declaration of what he'd heard and an even more uncertain, "I know you couldn't possibly, but..." and then he'd waited expectantly for his fears to be explained away. 

And that would be that, except his fears were true. "Brave, Travis," he muttered, gazing at the stars. _Brave and foolish._ What was Mayweather thinking, coming here and confronting him? If he were so worried about what was said at the funeral, why would he come here alone? 

He wouldn't be leaving alone. Or alive. Travis Mayweather wouldn't be telling a soul about what he'd overheard. 

Travis just pissed him off. It wasn't his fault, but that had been a private moment and he didn't like private moments like that one intruded upon. He would pay dearly for that unfortunate mishap. Licking his lips as the door buzzed, he called out, "Come in." 

The door hissed open loudly and slow footsteps sounded gently. "Sir," Mayweather said, clearing his throat. When there was no reply, he went on. "Something's been bothering me." 

"Go on," he finally said to the Ensign. He looked down at the object in his hands, twirling it around. 

Mayweather was quiet for a moment, then finally began. "At the funeral for T'Pol and Hoshi you said something that's been bothering me for a few days. I know it's probably nothing, Sir, but I have to get it off my chest." 

Turning his head slightly, he frowned. "What's bothering you?" 

"Well," Mayweather sighed, hesitating to bring up such an awful suspicion. "You looked at the coffins and asked for forgiveness. I just..." the Ensign trailed off. 

Finally turning, hands behind his back, he looked hard at Ensign Mayweather. "You just...what? Thought I'd killed them maybe? You've come here so that I'll tell you I had done something wrong to one of them and was apologizing as a good-bye?" 

Mayweather seemed taken aback by his coldness. "Sir, I didn't mean it to sound..." 

"Oh, but you did." He began to advance on Travis, his eyes revealing nothing. "You thought I was the killer. Admit it." 

Licking his lips and returning the terrible stare, Mayweather stood his ground. "Yes, I did." 

A smile broke across the other's features. He even laughed, looking the wide eyed Ensign over. "Travis! You thought I was some killer?" 

Mayweather backed away slightly, but slowly smiled. "Well, it crossed my mind. I didn't really believe you were." 

"Travis. Travis," he said, stepping close. "You were right." 

Ensign Mayweather stopped laughing abruptly. People with knives in their chests sometimes did. Taking a final breath, Travis grabbed the other and collapsed into him, his eyes wide with shock. "Sorry," he told him plainly, dragging the limp form away. He would have to hide Mayweather until a proper time he could take him to the hall and leave him. "I couldn't have you telling anyone, could I?" 

With that he left the no longer laughing Ensign in his own bed, covered with a blanket. Now the bed clothes would have to be destroyed and the floor cleaned of it's blood. It was going to be another long night and another long day tomorrow when someone found poor Mayweather. 

And another funeral soon. 

~   
Sorry it's been long in the coming. Thanks to my reviewers! 


End file.
